There’s something about summer that takes me back to the 1960s, when I was a kid. I don’t feel this way in winter or fall or spring. Just summer. Maybe because summers back then were a little slice of heaven.
Freedom from school, homework, coats and jackets and book bags and school shoes, freedom to run outside wearing a beat-up pair of sneakers, shorts and a tee shirt, jump on my bike, and go. Summers always make me remember and wish for those carefree days again.
The smell of the honeysuckle that grows on our fence reminds me of picking a blossom off the vine and pulling the little stem out and licking the tiny drop of nectar.
The smell of damp earth and wet asphalt brings me back to summer rainstorms and us waiting impatiently for them to be over so we could ride our bikes through the puddles.
The scent of freshly mown grass reminds me of how green our sneakers turned after playing baseball on the lawn.
Hot tar on the road has me visualizing dipping a stick into tar bubbles and writing our names on the telephone poles.
The sight of lightning bugs has me picturing me and my brothers running around out back trying to catch them.
The smell of butter reminds me of piling into our station wagon in our pajamas and going to the Ewing Drive-In on Prospect Street, lying on the roof of the car eating my mom’s homemade popcorn while we saw “That Darn Cat,” “The Love Bug” and “The Absent-Minded Professor.”
The acrid smell of bleach brings back memories of our pool, where we spent countless hours every day. My dad used to come home from work, sneak up on the roof, and jump into the pool, scaring and surprising us.
Once in a while mom would get into the pool with us and dog-paddle her way around, trying to keep her hair dry.
Our kitchen window looked out on the back yard, and my mom kept a transistor radio on the windowsill, so that strains of The Supremes, The Hollies, The Beatles, The Beach Boys, and the Ronettes could be heard over our splashing.
There was always a bag of pretzels and a pitcher of Kool-Aid sitting on the picnic table for us to enjoy after our swim and big, thick beach towels that smelled like fresh air to wrap ourselves in.
The sounds! So many sounds. Water splashing, bees buzzing, screen doors slamming, the ice cream truck’s jingle, the crack of a baseball connecting with a wooden bat, my mother calling us for dinner, our friends yelling for us to come outside, baseball cards in the spokes of our bikes, the whooshing sound of air as we rode our bikes hands-free down the hills, the bell over the door of Mary’s Grocery Store on Pennington Road as we walked in to buy chewing gum or candy or popsicles, small planes flying overhead out of Mercer Airport, the Mosquito Man’s truck whirring as he sprayed his white fog down the streets, and summer thunderstorms.
I remember lying in the shade of our apple tree in the backyard, looking up into the branches and dozing off. Nowadays if I tried to do that, the dog would be on my chest, bugs would be crawling all over me, and I’d need two people to get me off the ground.
Our biggest problems were losing in the baseball game, rain postponing outdoor plans, scraped knees and elbows, and an occasional bee sting.
No bills, no aches and pains, no cell phones, video games, computers. Of course, we were in grade school and oblivious to adult stress.
After dinner, we’d race outside to grab the last hours of the day. When the streetlights came on, we’d race back home. We’d take turns taking baths and then sit in front of the TV with bowls of ice cream, watching shows like “The Andy Griffith Show” and “Bewitched.”
I know everyone has to grow up and move away from that absolute freedom that we enjoyed as kids, but for just one day, I’d like to be that little girl lying under the apple tree again.
